


Cole Porter Never Wanted This (Or, the First Annual Production by the Beacon Hills High School Drama Club)

by darthjamtart



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-27
Updated: 2012-08-31
Packaged: 2017-11-13 01:03:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/497666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthjamtart/pseuds/darthjamtart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Stiles grabs Isaac’s arm. “Please tell me Peter Hale isn’t our new drama teacher.”</i>
</p><p>Not an AU until season 3 airs. Probably crack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Auditions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brilligspoons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brilligspoons/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Коулу Портеру такое и не снилось или первое ежегодное выступление драматического кружка Старшей школы Бикон-Хиллз](https://archiveofourown.org/works/556013) by [PrettyPenny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyPenny/pseuds/PrettyPenny)



The audition sign up sheet is posted in the hallway between the principal’s office and the guidance counselor, which means Stiles gets to see the growing list of names pretty much every day. **BEACON HILLS HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL AUDITIONS** , it says in a bold, cheerful font. In smaller print, underneath, it says, _Show to be announced. Everyone who auditions will have a part,_ which strikes Stiles as charmingly inclusive, if a bit ill-conceived. Not everyone can sing, after all. Stiles is under no illusions about his own abilities, in that regard.

Scott has miraculously managed to avoid being sent to the principal’s office for their entire first week back at school, junior year, which is why it falls upon Stiles to inform his best friend of the latest development on the sign up sheet.

“I didn’t know Allison was into drama,” Stiles says, which is possibly not the best approach he could have taken, but how was he supposed to know Scott would look so heartbroken?

Stiles manages to listen to about thirty seconds of Scott explaining Allison’s love for _South Pacific_ and how it’s an allegory for their tragic love -- which, Scott knows the word “allegory,” really? -- before redirecting his attention to his mystery lunch. It’s probably meat. “Hey, smell this and tell me what it is,” Stiles says, shoving his tray under Scott’s nose and cutting off what is probably a wildly compelling story.

Having a werewolf best friend is totally useful, sometimes.

Scott sniffs dubiously as the mystery lunch and looks puzzled. “Meat?” he guesses, and Stiles sighs. If only Scott were better at being a werewolf.

Scott doesn’t actually _tell_ Stiles he’s signing up for the musical. Instead, Stiles discovers Scott’s name on the line below Allison’s the next time he goes to his meeting with the guidance counselor, which means he spends his entire session with Ms. Morell ranting about his best friend and how Romeo and Juliet aren’t supposed to be taken as inspirational, jesus, what is _wrong_ with Scott?

“I didn’t even know we _had_ a drama club,” Stiles says, winding down, and Ms. Morell smiles enigmatically at him.

“We didn’t. The drama teacher was just hired this year.” Ms. Morell glances at the clock, then fixes Stiles with a vaguely threatening look. “Next week, we’ll talk about how _you’re_ handling things this year, right?”

Stiles nods, although the time he’s spent complaining about Scott and Allison is really the closest he’s felt to normal in ages.

“What do you know about the new drama teacher?” Stiles asks Scott at lunch the next day.

Scott shrugs. “I haven’t heard anything.” He inspects the vegetables on his tray woefully, then turns pleading eyes on Stiles. Stiles sighs and scrapes the -- what are they, green beans? asparagus? onto his own tray, and hands Scott his roll.

“You’re going to die of scurvy,” Stiles informs Scott cheerfully, but when the first bite fails to reveal the vegetable’s identity, he steals half his roll back and spends the rest of lunch artfully arranging the green stuff on his plate.

Stiles ends up accompanying Scott to the auditions for moral support. It’s been a few days since he’s seen the sign up sheet, which is why he’s surprised to see Isaac, Erica, and Boyd lounging in one of the last rows of the auditorium -- the last time he’d been called into the principal’s office, the list of names had included Allison, Scott, Lydia, Jackson (presumably because Lydia had forced him to sign up with her), and Greenberg, but not any of Derek’s leather-clad flunkies.

“What are _they_ doing here?” Stiles hisses to Scott, who’s staring dreamily in Allison’s general direction.

“We can hear you,” Erica calls from across the room. Stiles scowls. Stupid werewolves. He makes his way over to them anyway, since it’s not like Scott is providing much in the way of conversation.

“Well?” Stiles asks, draping himself over the seat in front of Isaac and poaching a Twizzler from the box Boyd is holding. Boyd curls his mouth into a snarl, but doesn’t actually object, which Stiles takes as permission to snag several more pieces of candy.

“Derek wants us to keep an eye on things,” Erica says. She sounds bored, and Stiles is confused.

“An eye on...the drama club?” he asks, but then a familiar voice issues from the stage, and Stiles freezes.

“All right, everyone, we’ll start the auditions with Greenberg!”

Stiles grabs Isaac’s arm. “Please tell me Peter Hale isn’t our new drama teacher.”

Isaac looks apologetic. “Sorry, man. I can’t tell you that.”

“Is Greenberg here?” Peter calls. “No?” There’s a rustle of paper, and Stiles darts a quick glance over his shoulder to see Peter peering at the sign up list. “Well, then, Miss Argent, you’re up!”

Allison demonstrates what Stiles thinks is remarkable fortitude by ascending the steps to the stage, passing within inches of Peter. Stiles assumes she’s carrying at least three weapons that are fatal to werewolves, which probably helps, but still. Her audition piece is something Stiles has never heard before, but judging by the way Scott goes all teary-eyed, it’s probably from _South Pacific_.

“I’m gonna wash that man right outa my hair,” Allison sings, a bit tremulously, in a sweet, slightly husky soprano. When Stiles darts another glance at Peter, he looks absurdly pleased.

“Excellent!” Peter declares, when Allison reaches the end of the second verse. “I think you’ll make a _wonderful_ Lilli Vanessi, Miss Argent. Or should I say, _wunderbar_?”

There’s a stunned silence from the six people present who know what Peter is talking about. Stiles, not being one of them, chews noisily on his pilfered Twizzlers.

“Derek was lobbying for _Into the Woods_ ,” Erica says. She sounds disappointed. “Looks like he lost.”

“I wanted to play Jack,” Isaac agrees glumly.

“Wait, what show are we doing, then?” Stiles asks, conveniently forgetting that he didn’t actually sign up for this. And can’t sing.

“ _Kiss Me, Kate_ ,” Boyd says.

Stiles drops his Twizzlers.

“Mr. McCall!” Peter calls from the stage. “You’re up!”

Scott is a surprisingly good singer, belting out _Some Enchanted Evening_ , a song Stiles has actually heard before, although he hadn’t realized it was also from _South Pacific_. Allison’s mouth tightens disapprovingly, and Stiles suspects that this is not actually helping Scott get any closer to reuniting with his beloved.

Peter, on the other hand, looks _thrilled_. “Scott, what a delightful surprise!” he says, and he really does seem delighted. “I had no idea you could sing! Now, I suppose we’ll have to schedule performances around the new moon, so you don’t accidentally howl in the middle of a song -- oh, don’t look at me like that, I’m only thinking of your well-being.”

“You totally howl, dude!” Stiles yells, before remembering that he really, _really_ doesn’t want Peter to notice he’s here.

Too late. Peter’s smile turns distinctly predatory. “Mr. Stilinski,” he says. “I didn’t see your name on the sign up sheet.”

“Uh, yeah, I’m just here for moral support,” Stiles says. “Hey, now that you’re a teacher, you can’t, like, retroactively punish us for things that happened before you were hired, right?”

“No, Stiles, I can’t give you detention for setting me on fire last year,” Peter says. His smile is showing _way_ more teeth than strictly necessary. Stiles glances nervously around the room, but Allison and Scott are deeply engrossed in staring at each other, Jackson is playing a game on his phone, and Lydia is obviously picturing Peter on fire. Her smile is somewhat terrifying.

“You’re wasting my time, Mr. Stilinski,” Peter adds when Stiles doesn’t move. “Stage. Now.”

Stiles doesn't have an audition piece, of course. He just stands on the stage and glares at Peter, who beams at him. “I can’t sing,” Stiles mutters eventually. “Can I get down now?”

“Certainly, Mr. Stilinski,” Peter says, making a note. He still hasn’t stopped smiling. It’s creepy. Creepier. Peter is always pretty creepy. Stiles makes a beeline for the back of the auditorium, but Peter stops him with a hand on his arm. “I’m glad you’re participating, Stiles.”

That’s even creepier. “Uh, sure,” Stiles says. He rejoins Erica, Isaac, and Boyd, and tries to pretend he can’t hear Erica snickering.

Stiles spends the rest of the auditions munching morosely on the Twizzlers that Boyd donated to him out of pity. “Thank you, everyone! The cast list will be posted tomorrow!” Peter announces when the last audition is over. Stiles grabs Scott and is about to haul him out of the auditorium for a very serious discussion about _what the hell is going on here_ when Peter calls out, “There will be a mandatory cast party this weekend, hosted by my nephew. I believe you all know Derek? Excellent.”

“Can he do that?” Stiles asks, then follows with the more relevant question, “And more importantly, _how do we get out of this?_ ”

Scott doesn’t seem to hear him. “The weekend! I never get to see Allison on the weekend anymore! This is great!”

Stiles groans and bangs his head against the wall.


	2. Casting

As promised, the cast list is on the wall outside the auditorium the next day. Stiles is dragged over by Scott, who is thrilled to find himself cast as leading man Fred/Petruchio to Allison’s Lilli/Kate. Stiles stares at the list in utter bewilderment.

 ** _KISS ME, KATE_ CAST LIST**  
Allison Argent: Lilli Vanessi/Kate  
Scott McCall: Fred Graham/Petruchio  
Lydia Martin: Lois Lane/Bianca  
Jackson Whittemore: Bill Calhoun/Lucentio  
Boyd: Harry Trevor/Baptista  
Isaac Lahey: Paul, gunman 1  
Erica Reyes: Hattie, gunman 2  
Stiles Stilinski: Harrison Howell, Gremio  
Greenberg: Hortensio

 

“Wait,” Stiles says. “Why do I have a part? Why do I have _two_ parts? Who _are_ these people? _What is this show even about?_ ”

“Stiles,” Scott says, waving a hand in front of his face. “Breathe.”

Stiles takes a few deep breaths. The cast list is still there. It is not some horrible nightmare, and if it is, he does not seem to be waking up. He pinches himself a couple times just in case, then, when that fails, he pinches Scott.

“Hey!” Scott yelps.

“This is your fault,” Stiles says, flailing his arms. “Okay, I admit, I have gotten us involved in some terrible, awful things, including your current furry state of existence -- I will accept responsibility for that. But I never got us involved in _musical theatre_.”

“Dude, calm down,” Scott says. “Your parts are tiny. Barely any singing at all! The show is a play within a play -- it’s about an acting company putting on a musical version of _Taming of the Shrew_ , which we totally read last year, remember? That’s why most of us have two names: the actor and the character.”

Stiles stares at Scott, momentarily distracted from the horror that is his life. “How do you _know_ all that?” It’s not that he doesn’t expect Scott to know things, it’s just that, well, he doesn’t expect Scott to know things. Scott looks sheepish.

“Allison--” he starts, and Stiles holds up a hand to cut him off.

“Yeah, okay, never mind.” Stiles is feeling way too traumatized to hear more about Allison right now.

Scott abandons him after lacrosse practice, so Stiles ends up spending his Friday night at home with a pizza. It’s almost like Scott and Allison never broke up, and Stiles composes several text messages to that effect, which he doesn’t send, because Stiles just isn’t prepared to be quite that pathetic.

Saturday is the mandatory cast meeting at Derek’s abandoned warehouse. Stiles isn’t the last one to arrive, technically, but only because Greenberg never shows up.

Someone’s made an attempt at cleaning the place -- the floor is noticeably less grimy than usual, and there are plastic tablecloths draped over the larger objects. Even so, this can’t possibly be approved by the school administration, a sentiment Stiles voices loudly, although it doesn’t stop him from hovering over the snacks. There are several bowls of chips, a couple liters of soda, and a stack of pizza boxes that’s already been pretty much decimated. Stiles turns a wounded gaze on Scott, who guiltily offers him the remains of a slice of meat lover’s pizza.

“So are we doing a read-through, or what?” Stiles asks, once he’s inhaled the few bites of pizza and a handful of chips. Everyone stares at him.

“This is a _party_ , Stiles,” Peter informs him, sighing unhappily. “Scripts will be handed out later. For now, just try to enjoy yourself!”

Stiles squints around the room. It doesn’t seem like much of a party, but what does he know? Lydia and Jackson are making out in a corner, which, okay, is a lot like the other parties Stiles has attended, now that he thinks of it. Erica has her feet up in Boyd’s lap, and Stiles looks hurriedly away before he can see what she’s doing. Isaac and Scott seem to be having some sort of intense discussion, probably about werewolf things, and Peter is surveying the party with an air of glee while Allison tries to engage him in a conversation about the accompaniment for the musical numbers of the show. Allison is also holding a small but most likely very deadly crossbow.

Stiles really isn’t ready for a reality in which Derek Hale is the least awkward person he could talk to, but his options are somewhat limited at the moment. He sidles over to where Derek is standing, and follows the line of Derek’s scowl to a plastic cup.

“Yeah, I guess the cups aren’t great for the environment,” Stiles starts, and cuts off with a strangled yelp when Derek grabs his wrist.

“Deaton warned me,” Derek says, eyes flashing red. Stiles tries to inch away, but Derek drags him closer. “He told me. About Peter. Getting in my head.”

“Uh, sure,” Stiles says agreeably, because that seems like the thing to do when Derek is acting like a _crazy wolf_. “Because throwing a party at your, uh, lovely and not at all creepy abandoned warehouse is definitely Peter’s way of messing with you.”

Derek looks pleased. “I knew you’d understand,” he says. He still hasn’t let go of Stiles’ wrist. Stiles gives a tentative tug.

“Okay, can I have my arm back now?”

Derek blinks at him, then stares down at where his fingers are still clutching Stiles’ wrist. He looks surprised, then drops Stiles’ wrist as though it had burned him.

Stiles is seriously reconsidering his choice of conversation partners.

“Enjoying the party, Stiles?” Peter asks from _right behind him_ , and Stiles is incredibly proud of himself for not jumping.

“Yeah, it’s...great?” he says cautiously. “I thought we’d be working on the show, though.”

“I really appreciate your enthusiasm, Stiles,” Peter says, and Stiles can’t decide which is creepier: the tone of Peter’s voice, or the fact that Peter keeps repeating his name. “ _Kiss Me, Kate_ is such a wonderful show. Don’t you think so, Derek?”

Stiles is pretty sure he imagined the way Derek flinched when Peter said the title of the show. Like, 90% positive. He’s definitely not imagining Derek’s snarl, though. Peter, unperturbed, reaches out to pat Derek on the cheek.

“You couldn’t have done _Into the Woods_?” Derek gripes, and Peter shakes his head sadly.

“Now, now, Derek. I know you wanted to see Stiles as Little Red Riding Hood, but he’s a bit tone-deaf for Sondheim.”

Stiles knows he’s gaping at them, but he can’t quite get his jaw closed. “What?” Derek, meanwhile, appears to be blushing.

“I did not,” Derek mumbles, but Stiles doesn’t need werewolf senses to know that he’s lying.

“I -- you -- what!” Stiles repeats, flailing a bit wildly. Peter moves prudently out of the way of any wayward limbs. “Has everyone gone _insane_? How is this happening? Why is your creepy uncle working _at my high school_? As our _drama_ teacher?”

“Stiles, I’m hurt,” Peter drawls. Derek looks shifty.

“He needed a job?” Derek offers. Stiles punches him in the arm before he can think better of it, but Derek just looks vaguely guilty and doesn’t respond.

“You have to admit, he does have a flair for the dramatic,” Allison says, and Stiles covers his face with his hands and tries to pretend he doesn’t know any of these people. When he looks up, the entire pack is watching him. It hasn’t gotten any less creepy than the last several times they’ve done that.

Stiles sighs, resigning himself to the situation, and hunches over a bowl of chips.


	3. Rehearsals

The only way rehearsals could be less productive is if they weren’t rehearsing at all. And even then, Stiles thinks, it could only be an improvement.

Allison knows her part cold before they even start going over the staging, which Stiles finds impressive until he realizes she was just desperate for something she could throw herself into that doesn’t involve weaponry and murder. Scott, on the other hand, has a tendency to forget his lines and gravitate toward Allison even when the blocking says to move in the opposite direction. Boyd delivers all his lines in the same apathetic tone until Erica snarls at him, at which point he starts glancing at her for approval after every line.

Lydia refuses to acknowledge when Peter is speaking to her. Or when Peter is speaking at all.

“Stiles,” Peter finally says, “Tell Lydia that she needs to move to stage right after her first verse.”

“Seriously?” Stiles asks. On stage, Lydia is pointedly examining her nails. Peter fixes him with a Look. “Fine, okay, jeez! Lydia, could you please move to stage right after your first verse?”

Lydia smiles sweetly at him. “Of course, Stiles. Thank you for asking.”

Well, that’s just weird. Lydia is _never_ that polite to him. On the bright side, Peter keeps snacks at the director’s table, and as Stiles is apparently now the assistant director, Peter lets him snag the entire bag of M &Ms.

Scott breaks character repeatedly when they try to run through act one. “Ow! Allison, you don’t have to hit me that hard!” he yelps, backing away from her.

“It’s in the script!” she says, still hitting him. Stiles flips through the script. She’s right.

“Mr. Hale, tell Allison to stop hitting me!” Scott calls down to them. Peter leans back in his chair.

“You’ll heal,” he says, and steals a couple M&Ms from Stiles.

Isaac drapes himself across the back of Stiles’ chair. “Derek’s here,” he says. Stiles twists to face the back of the auditorium and sure enough, there’s Derek, lurking like the champion lurker he is.

“Allison, quit it!” Scott yells, and flees the stage. Peter rolls his eyes, and Stiles throws an M&M at his head.

“I’d wonder how you passed the background check to get this job,” Stiles says, “but I’ve met the other teachers at this school. I’m honestly not sure if you’re any worse.”

Peter looks absurdly flattered.

Derek prowls down the aisle to insert himself in the row behind Stiles. Isaac passes him the bag of M&Ms, then bounds off, presumably to check on Scott. Stiles waits a second, then tries to grab the M&Ms back from Derek. “Those are mine,” he says. Derek growls at him.

Peter swats Derek on the side of the head. “Be nice, Derek,” he says. “I did, in fact, get those for Stiles.”

Stiles freezes, fingers still clutching at the bag of candy. “You what?” Derek growls again, louder this time, but Stiles is pretty sure this growl is directed at Peter.

Peter is no longer paying attention to them, however. “All right, Ms. Martin, Mr. Whittemore, let’s try your musical number from act two.”

Jackson strides onto the stage like he owns it, which, come to think of it, his parents probably did pay for the new arts wing. Lydia, however, stays in her seat. She’s glaring at Peter, which is a distinct change from her earlier approach of pretending he doesn’t exist.

“Ms. Martin,” Peter says. “The stage. Now.”

Lydia bares her teeth at him. Stiles knows she’s not actually a werewolf, but it’s still unsettling. “Make me,” she says.

There’s a brief staring contest, which Peter apparently loses, because he eventually says to Stiles through a clenched jaw, “Stiles, tell Lydia to get on stage.”

They somehow muddle through the rest of the show, but there’s a glimmer of psychosis in Peter’s eyes when he finally calls it a day. Stiles can’t really blame him, but he does edge a bit farther away, still clutching the M&Ms. They’re his, now. Peter said so.

Sometime around the third week of rehearsals, it belatedly occurs to Stiles that they go to a reasonably large school with lots of other students. “Don’t you think it’s a little weird?” Stiles asks Erica during a scene change. “That it’s just, well, us? Seriously, every werewolf in the school -- it’s a little weird. Unless werewolves have some sort of affinity for the performing arts, which, let me tell you, that should really be documented somewhere.”

Erica looks shifty. “Derek might have suggested we keep the rest of the student body away from Peter,” she admits. Isaac chortles.

Stiles is genuinely appalled. “And I don’t warrant the same consideration?” Erica and Isaac are _both_ laughing now. “Hey, I don’t have special supernatural healing powers! What if he goes psycho again? Wait, did you -- did you just lurk around the signup sheet scaring away all the other kids who like drama? Because I know there are other students who would have signed up. I’m pretty sure we used to have a glee club. Hey, what happened to the glee club, anyway?”

Erica looks even shiftier.

“Never mind,” Stiles says. “I don’t want to know.”

Peter is holding out a bag of Reese’s Pieces when Stiles heads back over to the director’s table. “You need to keep up your energy,” Peter says, when Stiles just narrows his eyes warily instead of accepting the candy.

None of the other snacks have been booby-trapped, but Stiles is pretty sure Peter is just biding his time. He takes the Reese’s Pieces anyway. “I’m onto you,” he says, just in case.

Peter laughs. “Oh, Stiles. So droll. You know I can tell when you’re lying, right?”

Stupid werewolves.

Still, it’s not _that_ weird until Stiles swings by the abandoned warehouse and finds Derek hunched over a pile of fabric. “Are you -- are you _sewing_?” Stiles asks, transfixed with horror. Derek scowls at him.

“Peter reminded me about Alpha responsibilities,” Derek mumbles. Stiles inches forward so he can get a better look at the fabric.

“Are those...costumes?”

Derek’s claws open up a long tear in some sort of sparkly tunic. It’s unintentional, apparently, because he immediately turns to Stiles, guilt-stricken, and holds out the needle and thread like it’s made of wolfsbane. “My grandmother used to fix our clothes,” he says. Stiles considers this.

“And your grandmother was...Alpha?”

Derek nods.

“Are you sure she wasn’t fixing your clothes because she was, you know, your grandmother, who used to run a tailor shop at the mall? And not because she was Alpha?”

Derek freezes. His eyes flash red. “I’m going to kill Peter,” he growls, and Stiles takes pity on him, reaching for the needle and thread.

“Nah, we already did that, I don’t think it will help,” Stiles says. He starts sewing up the tear with neat, almost-invisible stitches.

By the time Peter shows up to collect the costumes, Derek has settled down enough that he only snarls half-heartedly. Peter smiles benevolently in response. Stiles jabs a finger into Peter’s stomach.

“Don’t think for one second that I am wearing anything with glitter on it,” Stiles says. Peter spreads his arms in an attempt to look innocent. It’s a spectacular failure.

“Stiles. Would I do that to you?”

Stiles doesn’t dignify that with a response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We will never know what happened to the glee club.


	4. Dress

Not only is Stiles wearing a costume with glitter on it, Stiles is apparently wearing the costume with the _most_ glitter. He doesn’t remember any of the fabric in the costume pile being quite this glittery, before. Peter’s definitely done something to it.

Stiles glares down at Peter from the stage. Peter beams back at him.

“Director’s pet,” someone coughs from the back, and Stiles looks up just in time to see Isaac dig an elbow into Erica’s ribs.

“If you rip your costumes,” Stiles says pleasantly, “I will have Derek rip your throats out. With his teeth.”

The scuffle ends abruptly. Peter looks impressed. “Stiles, I’m so glad you’re taking your duties to the pack seriously,” he says. “Now if you could just take better care of my nephew -- he’s going to catch a chill, lurking beneath your window all the time.”

“Yeah, Stiles, you should warm him up,” Jackson calls, without looking up from his phone.

“Are you kidding? Derek’s like a furnace. All you little furballs are!” Stiles gulps as Isaac, Erica, Boyd, Jackson, and Scott turn matching scowls on him. Peter’s the only werewolf who _doesn’t_ seem offended, so Stiles skulks back to the director’s table and accepts the package of Oreos that Peter has waiting for him.

“Don’t think this means I’ve forgiven you,” Stiles says through a mouthful of Oreos. It comes out sounding more like “don’ ing is eans I’forivven oo”, but Peter has super-sensitive werewolf hearing, Stiles is sure he gets it.

They all end up at the warehouse again, after the dress rehearsal is over. Derek’s provided the usual stack of pizzas, as well as a whole bag of curly fries that he hands to Stiles. “Dude, I love you,” Stiles breathes, sticking his head into the bag and inhaling the delicious scent of curly fries. When he emerges from the hot, greasy goodness, Derek is staring at him with an unusually constipated expression.

It’s a relatively quiet evening, especially after Derek declares a ban on discussing the show for the rest of the night. He’d been growing increasingly tense, twitching every time anyone said the title of the musical or addressed Allison as Kate.

There’s a collective decision to order more pizza when they run out, and Peter casually snags Derek’s wallet and removes all the cash. “Don’t you have a job?” Stiles asks, and Peter arches an eyebrow at him.

“Oh, that’s not a paid position. Public schools, funding for the arts, et cetera.” Peter flips through the wad of bills, then looks up to find everyone staring at him.

“You’re not getting paid?” Derek growls.

“I’m volunteering. Devoting my time and effort to improving the community. I’m a reformed man, Derek.”

“Oh, god,” Stiles says, horrified realization short-circuiting his brain. “Please don’t say anything about working toward your redemption. I know you guys all have some sort of fetish for black leather coats, but you’re a _werewolf_ , not a vampire with a soul!”

The worst part is that no one but Peter knows what he’s talking about. Stiles consoles himself by finishing off the curly fries.

He stays late to help Derek clean up after the pack, because it turns out that all those bossy Alpha coercion abilities don’t apply to housework. “So are you going to come see the show?” Stiles asks. “My dad is coming. I tried to keep it from him, but he had lots of questions about where all the glitter was coming from, and he didn’t believe me when I suggested unicorns. Unicorns breaking and entering into our house. Hey, are unicorns real?”

Derek crushes the empty pizza boxes into the garbage and doesn’t answer the question.

“Anyway, Scott’s mom switched shifts so she could be there, and I made Peter promise not to hit on her this time. And Allison’s dad is coming, so you might want to, I dunno, show up late, if you’re planning to show up, and lurk in the back where he won’t see you. Even Jackson’s parents are coming, although I’m not sure about Lydia’s. And, well, you should be there. For your pack.”

“Our pack,” Derek says, and it’s so quiet that Stiles isn’t sure he heard him correctly.

The warehouse is strangely silent with everyone gone. Stiles tries to think past the sudden thud of his heartbeat, rising fast in his ears. “I should go,” he blurts out. “Need a good night’s sleep before the show, uh, see you tomorrow?” He almost trips over his own feet trying to get to the door, but Derek catches him. Derek’s hand feels like fire on his skin, even through the fabric of his shirt. “Thanks,” he says, and looks back to see something like a smile on Derek’s face.

“I’ll be there,” Derek says, and Stiles nods.

Peter is underneath his bedroom window when he gets home. Stiles dumps a glass of water on his head, and ignores the injured look he gets in return.

 _I’m just looking out for your well-being,_ Peter texts him. _I can’t have Derek showing up and interrupting your beauty sleep before the performance._

 _how did u get my numbr_ Stiles texts back. _and shouldnt u b more worried abt the stars. i hve like 5 lines_

 _Please find your shift key before texting me in the future,_ Peter texts, a moment later. Stiles groans and flings his phone out the window, not even bothering to aim for Peter’s head this time.

He regrets that choice about thirty seconds later, when Peter climbs through his window and hands Stiles back his phone. Stiles stares at the window, then at his phone, and suppresses the urge to shove Peter out the way he came in. “I liked it better when we were enemies,” he says instead. “Remember that? That was good times.”

Peter’s smile is strangely gentle. “Go to sleep, Stiles.” He ducks back out, then calls from below, “You can work on your written communication skills tomorrow!”

Stiles flops back onto his bed and hopes for dreams about a time when his life didn’t involve werewolves creeping through his window.


	5. Showtime

Boyd gets stage fright.

“How did we not know about this?” Stiles asks. “Seriously, did no one know about this?”

Erica stops chewing anxiously on her thumbnail so she can answer him. “I knew.”

Stiles throws his hands up in the air. “And you didn’t feel like this was something worth sharing?”

Erica shrugs. Boyd, who’s been staring at the curtain like it’s going to attack him, lets out a small whimpering noise. Stiles wonders, yet again, how this is his life.

“Right. Okay. Uh, Boyd, you can do this!” Stiles says. “Just picture the audience in their underwear! And bleeding from massive claw wounds?” Erica grins, clearly on board with this plan, but Boyd just looks mildly traumatized.

“Don’t worry about it, Stiles,” Erica says, but she’s staring at Boyd in a way that can only be described as _hungry_. “I’ll...distract him.”

Stiles is very worried. Mostly that Erica will distract Boyd so much he forgets his lines. Stiles didn’t want to get involved with this stupid musical in the first place, but as long as he’s here, he’d really prefer that it not be an unmitigated disaster.

Boyd is no longer staring at the curtain, though, so Stiles decides that discretion is the better part of valor and leaves them to it. He ducks down the steps to check on the audience.

His father is here, and sitting with Scott’s mom, as usual. There’s Allison’s dad, and Stiles is really hoping that’s not a concealed weapon, but no, Chris Argent shifts slightly, and that is definitely a gun. Stiles knows there are schools with weapons detectors, but this is, unfortunately, not one of them. Who brings a gun to a high school musical? Hunters are the worst.

Stiles turns to find Scott next to him, also peering out at the crowd. “I think Peter’s planning something,” Scott says. Stiles looks around. Peter is nowhere in sight.

“Well, yeah, probably,” Stiles says. “But I think we’re safe until after the show, at least. Peter seems really invested in this.” The lights flicker, and he pulls Scott backstage. “Showtime!”

Stiles spends most of the performance watching the audience. Derek slips in halfway through act one, but stays at the back, close to an exit. Stiles is glad he’s there, since there’s a touch-and-go moment at the end of the first act, when the script calls for Scott to carry a protesting Allison offstage. Stiles is pretty sure no one else sees Chris Argent reaching for his gun, and the lights come up just in time, reminding Allison’s father that this is just a show, and he doesn’t have to shoot anyone.

Stiles could really use a beer. Being underage sucks. He squints at Derek, trying to telepathically communicate his desire for alcohol, but Derek just looks confused. “Get beer,” Stiles whispers, on the off-chance that Derek’s freaky werewolf hearing will pick it up over the crowd’s applause. “For me. For the after-party, I mean!”

His father corners him by the snack table halfway through intermission. “I’m proud of you, son,” he says. His eyes are suspiciously bright, and Stiles gapes at him.

“Are you -- are you _crying_?”

“No,” his father mutters.

“Seriously, I have like five lines!” Stiles says.

“Stiles,” Derek interrupts, appearing out of nowhere. Stiles almost falls over. This had better not be about the beer. He’s pretty sure his father won’t approve of Derek Hale buying alcohol for minors. Or hanging out with minors. Or being here at all, apparently, going by the way his father is frowning.

“Yes?” Stiles says.

Derek tilts his head toward the stage, where Peter appears to have struck up a conversation with Chris Argent.

“That can’t be good,” Stiles says, and pushes through the crowd to find out what’s going on.

“...forgotten that you’re _so much prettier_ than your sister,” Peter is saying, when Stiles gets into normal human earshot. Chris looks, well. Stiles isn’t sure what the expression on Chris Argent’s face means. It’s kind of amazing, though, and Chris doesn’t seem to be reaching for his gun, so Stiles heads back to the snack table.

“I hate you,” he tells Derek. “And you owe me _so much beer_ for making me hear that.”

Derek grins at him. “Haven’t you heard? Misery loves company.”

“Beer?” Stiles’ father says, and Stiles freezes, then turns slowly. He is so grounded.

“Metaphorical beer?” Stiles tries. “No? Hey, remember how you’re so proud of me? I have to go, we still have a whole second act. Bye, dad!” He bolts for the stage, leaving Derek to fend for himself.

Isaac opens the second act with a genuinely awesome rendition of “Too Darn Hot,” giving Stiles time to consult with Scott.

“I mean, it’s not like Allison’s dad can’t handle himself around werewolves,” Stiles says. “And it’s better than Peter hitting on your mom, right?”

Scott appears to be too traumatized to speak. Stiles pats him on the shoulder sympathetically, then shoves him onstage and feeds him the first few lines until Scott is back on track.

They somehow muddle through the rest of the show, and then it’s over: a group activity in which no one was maimed or murdered or transformed against their will. Stiles wonders out loud if the whole thing was some sort of mass hallucination, but Peter tells him that’s just the post-performance adrenaline and hands him a box of sour patch candy.

“I’m pretty sure I’m going to regret saying this,” Stiles confesses to Scott’s back. “But I could maybe be convinced to do this again next year.”

Scott mumbles something that could be agreement, but doesn’t stop making out with Allison. They’ve been attached at the lip since their kiss at the end of act two. Stiles taps him on the shoulder.

“Hey, you guys know the show is over, right?”

Allison holds up her mini crossbow, and Stiles backs away, hands raised. He can take a hint.

“Derek is hosting the wrap party,” Peter announces, once the audience has mostly dissipated. Chris Argent is still lingering, but he’s so busy watching Peter that he doesn’t seem to have noticed Scott and Allison’s ongoing PDA. Stiles meanders over to where Derek is standing and offers him some of the candy.

“Sour patch for a sour wolf?” Stiles asks, and Derek doesn’t even scowl at him, just arches an eyebrow and accepts the candy. Isaac joins them a moment later, gazing forlornly around the auditorium.

“I thought drama clubs were supposed to have, you know, drama, not just a bunch of monogamous couples,” Isaac complains. “I’m going to be the only one at the wrap party without a makeout buddy!”

Stiles pats Isaac on the shoulder sympathetically. “Hey, it’s cool, Derek and I don’t have makeout buddies, either!”

Isaac stares at him incredulously.

“What?” Stiles asks.

“Um,” Isaac says, after exchanging a really weird look with Derek. “Never mind.”


	6. Wrap

The after-party is better than Stiles could have possibly imagined.

“Oh my god, you got me beer,” Stiles moans, reaching out to snag a bottle. It’s slick with condensation, fizzing perfectly cold and bitter down his throat when he gets it open. “I can’t believe you got me beer.”

Derek is staring at him quizzically. “You asked me to.”

“Well, yeah, but I know you guys can’t get drunk, and Lydia’s more of a cocktail person, and Allison says alcohol throws off her aim. So really the beer is just for me, right?” Stiles finishes the bottle and grabs another. “Hey, you’re not plying me with alcohol so you can take advantage of my drunken state, are you?” Stiles wiggles his eyebrows theatrically.

“Of course not,” Derek says, in the least convincing tone of voice Stiles has ever heard in his entire life. He chokes on his beer.

“Oh my god, you totally are!” Stiles says, once he’s regained his breath.

“Now, Derek,” Peter says from the other side of the room. “What did I tell you about alcohol and consent?”

There’s a crashing noise from Jackson and Lydia’s corner, but Stiles can’t see what broke, and it’s not like there’s anything really _nice_ in the warehouse.

“Wow, you totally did not need to get me beer, dude,” Stiles says, opting to ignore Peter. Ignoring Peter is usually the best plan, anyway. “Have you seen you?” He gestures eloquently at Derek’s, well, everything, sloshing beer all over both their shirts in the process. “No inebriation necessary!”

“Worst drama club ever,” Isaac mutters, but no one else is complaining. Possibly because they are, as anticipated, making out in their various couple formations. Stiles decides to go with the theme and launches himself at Derek enthusiastically.

Derek, for his part, seems completely on board with this plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter Hale is not exactly the poster child for informed consent.


End file.
